it?’
Nottingham shook his head. The Gypsy smiled. ‘All Gypsy horses. Big fair. But we come back next winter.’
The Constable smiled. ‘You always do. And bring this one with you. I want to see him again.’
Reaching across the desk, the two men clasped hands.
The door swung wide and men carried in the corpses of Peter and Paul Henderson, their bodies hardly concealed under old, thin sheets. Petulengro looked pointedly at Nottingham. ‘We leave this morning. We just had to finish few things first.’
Nottingham raised his hand as the Gypsy walked out.
Вы читаете Cold Cruel Winter
